My Escape
by MelanieBea
Summary: Melanie Wasurick does her best to move on from her parents' death, using music to cope. Iggy "James" Griffith does his best to live in a dark world, living in a foster-home. When their lives touch, they find their escape in each other.AU.Iggy/OC,Max/Fang
1. Broken Like an Angel

My life was horrible. And, no, I don't mean a "I got a 'C' on my math test" or even "My dog died," kind of horrible. My life was more in the "I'm a blind orphan who lives with a group of misfit kids and an abusive foster-mother" kind of horrible. Yes, I do hope you are rethinking your standards.

I had been raised, until I six, by a homeless man in San Francisco. He had found me in a pile of garbage in an empty alley as a baby. Once, he told me that it would have been better if he had just left me there to die. Maybe he should've; I wouldn't have had to beg on street corners for money, or, constantly have to rely solely on my hearing wherever I went so I didn't run into anything. But I know he never would have done it and I knew he was glad he had saved me. He had been lonely.

I never knew much about his past, not even his real name. He called himself Iggy, but never told me why. Though he did tell me that when he decided to name me James Griffith, it was for his brother, who had died when he was ten.

Everyday, I wished that he hadn't died, that the janitor hadn't found me sleeping in the public library, that the police hadn't thrown me in a poor bitch's house. But of course, it had all happened.

But I was glad that I had found somewhere that I could fit in. being blind, it was hard to find friends. It seemed that my sightlessness was contagious and whomever I met could only see me as a helpless child. Though somehow, misfits understood each other. The only upside of my foster-home was my "siblings."

I was one of the last additions to the flock, as we liked to call ourselves. We were like birds pushed out of the nest too early in life. It fit. Maximum Ride was our leader. Her parents had died of heroin overdoses when she was two. She always said they must've been floating when they named her, but when given the choice to change her name, she refused. Nick Evans had come along just a few months after Max. She had renamed him Fang because of his caustic attitude when she was little. The two had always seemed to be in love and when they started holding hands and kissing, it seemed so normal that no one questioned it. Angel and The Gasman were the youngest of the flock and the only biological siblings. Angel was just a baby when she first came to us and Max tended to treat her like her own daughter. It was heartwarming to see Max hold Angel while she cried after scraping her knee on the sidewalk. Their parents have given them up after Angel was born, and she had started out without a name. Gazzy was on document as Zephyr Smith but earned his name due to his digestion issues. Monique was our foster-mother's biological daughter and it was a good thing that she didn't share any character traits with her mother. Her horrible habit of babbling for _way_ too long had dubbed her as Nudge.

When I was first put into foster-care, they asked me what my name was. Without a moment of hesitation I had said Iggy. They didn't question it, obviously not caring enough to ask. No one knew where I had gotten my name, nor did they know that my "real" name was James. They didn't have to.

And even after all the shit we went through, we grew up just fine.

Brenda Jackson was our foster-mother, but Max had been more like a mom to all of us. Brenda was a thirty-year-old single mother who, for the past fourteen years, had been trying to take off in her acting career. Of course, having a daughter at seventeen and having to take care of group of orphans just to pay her rent put a damper on things. The first time I met Brenda, I thought she would take care of me. Her voice was so soft and flowing, and she had taken my hand and led me to her car so gently. Fang told me that she was incredibly beautiful, even though she was a bitch. Apparently, she had curly dark brown hair that was the same color as her big eyes. She was covered in perfect mocha skin and had a petite frame. Obviously I really didn't know. Her appearance had no relation to her character. She was constantly out of the house and came home after midnight usually drunk. If she was home during the day, she would yell at us and lock us in our rooms. Every once in awhile, she would hurt us. She had broken my arm once dragging me to my room and had cut the side of my face with a kitchen knife when I accidentally spilled a glass of milk.

And on top of being blind, an orphan, and living with an abusive bitch, I was in love with someone I had never met.

It had been a regular Tuesday afternoon. The flock and I had walked Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel to their school and then carried on to Aviva High School. I had went through the day as I usually did, sleeping in second period and reading along in class with my Braille textbooks. As I headed towards the front of the school where I planned to meet Max and Fang, I passed by the band room and stopped dead in my tracks. Cemented to the linoleum, I had heard her. She played in a tone so hollow and graceful. The music coming from the oboe was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. "Hurry up, I 'wanna go home," I had heard someone in the room say impatiently. The music stopped.

"Don't rush me." Her voice was like a carbon copy of the wind instrument, it resonated around me as if there was echo in the hallway. Still mesmerized by the sounds she had created, I didn't hear her get up and walk through the door. "Sorry," she called brushing by shoulder.

Love is horrible. it keeps you up in the middle of the night, wishing with everything in you that the person you have fallen for loves you back or that one day they will or that one day you can just forget about them. That was probably the only upside of love. The night I fell in love, I didn't think about the man who had raised me. Love replaced itself.

And being blind and falling in love with a stranger is probably the worst thing you can do. Because when you hear them, you _know_ it's them. You _know_ that it couldn't possibly be anyone else. Which is exactly what happened to me, Iggy "James" Griffith, when I heard that beautiful voice being dragged into our kitchen by my horrible stepmother on May 11th. And when I pinched myself to wake up from an impossible dream, I was still foster-siblings with Melanie Bea Wasurick.

**AN: Woot woot! MrsPartyMarty is back! X) You don't know how sorry I am about totally dying. Okay, I'll start this off by saying that I have DISCONTINUED "With a Family." It was starting to suck. Same with "Embracing Insanity" thanks to my sister who is too lazy to write. ****:) I just started the Maximum Ride series and I LOVE it. X) I'm on book two and trying to read fast. I do not have a beta, if you want to help me out, PLEASE DO. I will love you forever. **

**I plan to get the next chapter up by… next Thursday? I'm hesitant. Don't kill me if it's not finished by then. It's just an estimate. ALSO, the OC's are based off of meeeee and some of my buddies. If you think we are weird… we totally are. Okay, thanks for reading! DON'T FROGET TO REVIEW! X)**

**Love,**

**MrsMartinJohnson**

PS

This is really short, but the next chapter will indeed be longer.


	2. Too Much

On May 8th, I had been a fairly average resident of Los Angeles, California. I got A's and B's in school, I liked boys, my big brother protected me, I got happy and angry, and every once in a while I would cut my arms to distract myself from sadness. There were tons of people more interesting than I was. On May 9th, a man lost control of his big SUV, and hit a dirty Sedan. In this Sedan happened to be a beautiful women whose hair had been thinning for the past fifteen years, an intelligent man with glasses and a mustache, and their twenty-year-old son who had wanted to visit his family and take a break from college. In this Sedan happened to be my family.

On May 10th, I was sleeping on the brown carpet of my brother's girlfriend's house. She and I had instantly become good friends when she and my brother first started dating. At one in the morning, I could still hear her weeping. I had spent the past two days sobbing into my hands, I had run out if tears. Staring up at the white ceiling, I anticipated the following day when I would be taken into foster-care.

I was only sixteen when my family died. I wouldn't inherit any of their money till I was eighteen. My grandparents had died of old age a few years ago, my mother was an only child, and my father's one brother was in jail for drug trafficking. There was nowhere for me to go. If I had had my way, I would have moved in with my brother's girlfriend, Caravel Souza, or my best friend, Arjoo Minhas. But the law was the law.

Caravel's alarm clock began to beep noisily, signaling the second six o'clock I had faced as an orphan. Caravel rolled onto her side stretching silently. I was glad she had gotten sleep; I hadn't. Silently, I grabbed my backpack filled with some of the things from my room and entered the small bathroom. Later that day I would have to go back home and bring the rest of my room to the foster-home I would be living in. I was happy to be allowed that, but I didn't want to leave my home.

I looked into the mirror straight into my green eyes. The usual dark bags under them were prominent as ever. As an Insomniac, I was used to little sleep, but being without even a nap for thirty-one hours straight was almost too much for me. Slowly I ran a brush through my dyed-black hair, not even wincing as it tore through the tangles. I didn't bother styling my hair as I usually did, I didn't have the strength for all the backcombing and hair spraying. Arjoo would certainly be surprised by my flat hair. Reaching into the green backpack, I fished out a pair of grey jeans and a long sleeved shirt. I threw them on carelessly. Out of habit, I covered my eyes with too much black eyeliner. I almost smiled when I looked back into the mirror where I saw myself hiding behind the dark makeup. I looked so much like the Melanie I had looked like back at on May 8th; But I was so different.

"Mel?" Caravel called quietly, startling me with her soft voice. I opened the door to see her still in mismatched pajamas. Her long thick hair hung over her shoulder in loose curls. I had always been jealous of her hair. I never really was a fan of my thin locks. The color had originally been an ugly brown that didn't even match my eyebrows. I had taken the initiative and dyed it as dark as I could. My mother had never let me bleach my bangs, as I had always wanted to. Caravel smiled gently at me and asked if she could use the bathroom. I sat on her desk chair waiting for her to get ready.

Nearly forty-five minutes later, she traipsed out of the bathroom lightly on her small feet. Like always, I was taken aback by her beauty. The first time I saw Caravel, I thought she was the most gorgeous human being I had ever seen. Her flawless pale skin was stretched over her petite frame. Only her dark hair and almost-black eyes marred the white flesh. She was two years older than I was, and even compared to me, an average 5'4", she was very short. Today she wore a floral pink romper that hugged her small body perfectly. "Ready?" she asked in her soprano voice. I nodded quietly. She bent down to hand me my school bag and oboe case where they lay beside her closet. I forced a small smile.

That morning consisted of the most irritating moments I had ever endured. Constantly, strangers came to ask me how I was or say how sorry they were about my parents. I could recall the majority of the people making fun of me for being fat and having bad acne when I was younger. It was really pissing me off. By the time the seventeenth person came to pester me, I couldn't restrain the "Fuck off," that had been building in me since seven o'clock that morning. For first period, I had French with Ms. Lopez. It was always my least favorite part of the day. Everyday I couldn't concentrate on my text book or my homework, I only found myself going over how the fuck this lady had been hired as a _French _teacher. Frankly it made no sense.

With the shrill ring of the bell, I collected my things as fast as I could. I sighed in relief seeing the tall, slim figure of my best friend. "Arjoo," I called out lightly, my voice hoarse from the sobbing and lack of talking throughout the past few days. She turned to look at me, her usual emotionless expression plastered in her face. I hadn't seen her for a few days, and I missed her dreadfully. Taking a small step, she bent a bit to wrap her long arms around me. It was so out of character.

Arjoo Minhas had been quiet, and quite unpopular, when I first met her in the third grade. At the time, I was loud and had so many friends. As time went on, Arjoo kept on growing and I suddenly stopped. Arjoo became more comfortable with herself and I became more self-conscious. And in between all the differences, we found that we were both not the coolest people in the world. We listened to sadly uncommon hard rock and were almost too mature for our age. We had been in specialized advanced classes as kids and moved onto AP classes in high school. When we reached the sixth grade, I started to cut myself, and three years later, Arjoo was diagnosed as "clinically depressed." We were alike in so many ways, but our differences seemed so noticeable. Arjoo had thick black hair that waved down past her shoulders. She had flawless dark skin, small brown eyes, and was quite underdeveloped. I was quite the opposite with fine hair that I constantly had to dye to hide it's hideous light brown color. My skin was very light with terrible acne, my eyes changed from hazel to green, and I had a figure that had been one of a pleasantly curvy twenty year old (although, by the terrible modern standard that a size six wasn't small, I would be considered almost fat) complete with big boobs that were probably my best traits. I liked to walk beside Arjoo and see the shadow of her large nose beside my small one against plain walls. I thought it was quite funny.

"How 'ya holdin' up?" she asked, pulling back. I shrugged and she left it alone. That was one of the greatest things about her: she knew when to shut up. We walked to second period talking about the meaningless topics we usually hung onto for a few days. On our way to English with Mrs. Ara, I spied Alina Asefi, a gossipy girl I had known since the second grade. We had been close friends for the past few years. She waved weakly at me but, wisely, didn't come to ask about my parents, knowing it would _never _be the time to talk about it.

We rounded the corner, Mrs. Ara's room just a few feet away. I saw a tall figure blocking the doorway. I had seen him a few times, his name was Bryan Smith, he was an aide for Mrs. Ara's first period class. But he looked much different. Before my eyes, this boy I hardly knew began to change. His blue eyes turned into a very close shade to mine and his features morphed just a bit. Suddenly, he was my big brother. He stood there five feet in front of me, his eyes crinkling up into a closed-mouth smile. It was too much.

I fell to my knees, not feeling the sharp pain if contact nor did I hear the loud _crack_ that bounced off of the hard marble. My hands went to shield my eyes, my eyelids squeezed shut. I might have been screaming for hours or days before Arjoo lifted me off of my feet, hugging me tightly. "Mel, it's okay; it's okay." She said the words over and over knowing exactly the cause of my distress. Hot tears were flooding off my cheeks feeling cold as ice against my numb face. And as if a murderer had pulled the trigger of a gun right against my skull, everything stopped and went black before I was far away in my mind, hoping that I could stay unconscious for the rest of my life.

I saw slits of bright light that slowly became wider and wider. The blurry images of too near faces became clearer and clearer. The feeling that people were talking about me came closer and closer to my attention.

"Melanie." The call seemed far away even with the materializing face of an elderly woman very close. I had seen her once or twice before. As the white cupboards and blank walls became less than shapeless blobs, I realized I was in the school nurse's office. I had been in the cramped room a few times before for Arjoo when she got sick or because I had puked… or something along those lines.

Finally, the room and the people within it took on their proper appearances. Kathy, the school's nurse, stood by the hard gurney-like bed where I was laying. Her wrinkled face and bright blue eyes were full of concern. In the far corner in an old blue chair was a woman I had never seen before. Tight, dark curls framed her coffee colored face. Her face was thin and long and her body followed the pattern with legs that seemed to stretch on for miles. Big, almost black, deer eyes were plastered perfectly on her face above prominent cheekbones. She was quite gorgeous. Noticing my stare on her, the stranger stood up to stand on the opposite side of Kathy. I noticed how her pastel pink skirt was just a tad too short for being in a high school. She smiled happily, showing a very white, very straight teeth. (I also took notice of the unusually sharp canines.) "I'm Brenda Jackson!" I hope you noticed the exclamation point. I winced from the sickening amount of cheer in her voice.

The next half-hour consisted of Brenda explaining herself as my foster-mother. She talked about herself for probably half of that time. She started off by telling me how when she was my age, she had been a very popular girl, how she had been mistreated by her parents, how she had had a daughter when she was seventeen, of her acting career that was on the verge of taking off, and finished her autobiography by telling me that she had an audition in just twenty minutes. On the way to the parking lot and in her fairly new Mercedes, she might have realized there were more important things to discuss than her life story. She might have just figured out that it had not interested me. Judging by the sour expression that had replaced the cheerful one, it had been the latter.

Speeding down the road, she informed me that she had six other foster-kids living in her apartment in West Hollywood. "I usually have auditions or interviews around this time so they walk home. They're probably their already," she said with a grimace as a red Toyota cut her off. She honked her horn and shot the driver the bird. _Well then. So long Preppy Brenda._ Then suddenly I became alarmed. I had been unconscious for nearly six hours? It was about three thirty. I was supposed to start bringing my things to my new home at three thirty. All I had with me was my school bag and my oboe.

"What about all my things?" I cut into the silence. She cursed, suddenly seeming to remember as well.

"I'll have Max drive you later." Was her quick response as we pulled into an apartment complex parking lot. I jogged to keep up with her as she stepped into an elevator, ignoring the stairs right beside it. She hit the five button and we slowly made our way up. Walking down an empty hallway lined with doors on both sides, she scavenged through the multitude of keys on her hey ring. She stopped near the end of the corridor at a door marked "12E."

the apartment was fairly large. It had a small kitchen branching into a good-sized family room. An old plaid couch and an un-matching black recliner were situated in front of a TV set. It was quite nice, to be honest. Three doors were open side by side and a fourth was closed in the opposite wall. "Max!" she yelled. The quiet chatter in the rooms ceased and a tall girl hurried out of one of them. I was certain I had seen her around school before, but I didn't know her name. She had tangled blonde-streaked hair that hid brown eyes and a pretty face. Her lips stretched into a friendly smile. I returned the gesture. "You have to drive me to work; I'll stay at Ricardo's. Take Melanie to get her shit later," Brenda stated forcefully. Max didn't hesitate, catching the keys that were tossed at her.

"Nudge is in the second room, she'll make you feel at home," she said quickly, the smile still in place. I nodded and added in a fleeting "thanks" before she scurried out the door trying to catch up with Brenda.

I took a deep breath and forced a small smile onto my face. My hand tightened around the handle of my oboe case. My feet walked towards the second room but I still seemed to be at the doorway as I went to meet my new family.

**AN: Oh my golly. That took me so long, sorry. :P but it is longer than the first! Yay Mel! Heehee. So I'll try to update faster but no promises. Pleeeeeaaaasse review! Or I will be forced to send my people to bomb your house. Yes threats are joy. :D haha. **

**Lovvvveee,**

**MrsMartinJohnson (Melanie)**


	3. Real Thing

"Hi!" I could hear Nudge talking unnecessarily loud in her room.

"Hi." I could just barely make out the quiet greeting. My breathing had stopped entirely as soon as I had heard her beautiful voice. It was exactly how it was that fateful Tuesday afternoon; exactly how I dreamed of it every night. The shuffling of feet, Nudge's talking, and Angel's feeble attempts to make her way into the conversation in the next room were moving. Before I could exhale, I could hear them in my doorway.

"That's Gazzy, and Mr. Grimace over there is Iggy." Was I grimacing? Fang had told me my lips were usually not in a smile. She had probably waved or smiled to acknowledge us. "Iggy's blind. You have to vocalize." This time I could feel myself grimace. We always talked about my blindness so freely, as if it were nothing. And even if I was in love with her, she was an outsider. Shouldn't we be different around her?

"Oh, sorry," she muttered. "I'm Melanie." It was so tempting to say her name, to taste it on my tongue.

Nudge had been talking as I lost myself in my thoughts. "…gets back we're supposed to go and get her things." I had only heard the last part and quickly tuned the rest of Nudge's talking out as she lead Melanie back into they room they would share with Angel. I turned towards Gazzy.

"What does she look like?" I usually asked what something or someone looked like. It usually never helped. Colors were an enigma to me.

"She's a little taller than Nudge, really pale, pretty eyes, black hair. A little scary. " I stayed silent for a few seconds before I burst out in laughter.

"What?" I said between guffaws. Gazzy always tried to act grown up. Being laughed at was apparently not something adults had to deal with.

"She's wearing dark clothes and she has a bunch of black makeup on her eyes!" he defended himself quickly. I continued to laugh uncontrollably. How ironic: the stranger I had fallen in love with was a creepy "emo" chick. Perfect.

Nearly three hours filled with five trips from Melanie's old house to our apartment and cramming a bed and a mesh of odd items into a small room later, we sat in the living room eating our unhealthy dinners around the TV as if we were an average family. It was almost impossible to move the majority of a sixteen-year-old's belongings with a small Mercedes, though we had successfully achieved the task. I had followed the sound of Fang's footsteps up the driveway, through the garage, and along the short halls of Melanie's former house. The stairs had caught me off guard. I had noticed Fang's footsteps ascending, but I hadn't noticed that the first three steps were larger than the fourth. I clipped the stair with my foot and flung my arm around trying to grab onto Fang. My fingers clenched on the banister that I had found and I tried to find somewhere to put my foot as I began to fall. The air whooshing past my face suddenly stopped as callused fingers gripped firmly around my forearm. The size of the hand and the length of the nails pressing into my skin told me it was one of the girls. I wasn't surprising though when she was able to pull me up; because of my thin and lanky frame, I'm sure anyone could. Assuming it was Nudge, I thanked her in my usual nonchalant tone. Incidents like this happened quite frequently, it didn't surprise me that someone had to help me. It did surprise me, however, when a hollow, flowing voice greeted me. "No problem." My skin was on fire where she had touched me. "Do you need any more help? Or…"

"No," I responded quickly. Damn it; I sounded like a douche. "Thanks though," I added on. I heard her footsteps and nearly silent breathing ascend up the stairs, leaving me rooted to the soft carpet.

The move hadn't been too much work. All the things she planned to take had been stuffed into at least ten boxes. The challenge was fitting everything in the Mercedes. We had to completely disassemble her full sized bed and lay the frame across our laps in the back in two big pieces. The mattress had sufficiently been stuffed under the seats. Half of it was actually _under_ the seats, the other half was folding up against them. Having unnaturally long legs had never been such a problem. The one upside was our cramped situation in the backseat. I myself was pressed against the cool plastic of the door. My left was constantly on fire. Melanie sat, sandwiched between Gazzy and me. Every turn, every twist, every episode of bad driving Max exhibited had her shoulder, her arm, her hand on me. It was glorious. She probably didn't think twice about what she was doing to me, she probably had no idea.

When all of her boxes were at the apartment, Nudge and Angel, who had had stayed home, helped her unpack. Her scent was everywhere. I felt like a dog, going crazy over such a simple smell. It wasn't a scent I could exactly identify. It was something like the sweet smell of burning sugar and apple-flavored gum. It was intoxicating.

I sat in my usual place on the recliner. It's cool leather pressed comfortingly against my arms. "We're going to Savemart tomorrow, guys," Max called from the kitchen. It was a good call. I had used the last of the food in the fridge for breakfast that morning. I really enjoyed cooking, but when we were out of supplies, I was perfectly fine with eating pretzels as a meal.

"Iggy!" I braced myself as a bag of salted crackers was thrown at me. I had a sodium problem. The TV was turned on and the click of the light switch in the kitchen told me that everyone had moved to the family room. Max and Fang were probably cuddled up in the corner of the couch, Nudge and Angel were most likely beside them, and Gazzy I knew was right in front of the TV when Fang told him to get out of the way. The sound of the carpet crinkling under feet stopped next to my seat. I felt her lean slightly against the side of the recliner after sitting down on the floor. I could smell each fruity exhale, hear each quiet chew of gum, feel each beat of her heart vibrating against me chair.

I reached into my pocket where I always kept my small Bic lighter. My thumbed flicked across the top over and over. It was a habit I had established a long time ago to distract myself. But no matter how many times the heat of the flame touched my fingers, I couldn't get her out of my mind. Just knowing that she was mere inches away from me was driving me crazy.

My eyes flew open. The small sound coming from the kitchen had woken me from a very horrible. It's quite possible that the sadness of the dream was what woke me up as opposed to whatever was in the kitchen. Still, my curiosity got the better of me, and I quietly slipped out of the room as not to wake up Gazzy. Of course, if a plane crashed into the apartment, Gazzy would continue to snore away. Without the door in my way, I could hear the noise quite clearly. It was still very quiet and it wasn't surprising that I was the only one who had heard it. Tentatively, I made my way around the couch to get closer.

I knew exactly what it was. She was playing oboe. Obviously she practiced everyday, anyone with ears could deduct that. I'm sure it would have been difficult for her to ask the flock if she could just step aside to practice. The perfect flowing of the notes, the subtle quarter notes thrown into a sea of sixteenths. I felt my knees go weak at the realization of what she was playing: Richard Strauss's Oboe Concerto. During my homeless days in San Francisco with Iggy, one of the places we found shelter in was a music shop. Headphones had been placed throughout the store playing many genres of music. He would search for one song in particular, knowing that they played it in the classical section. The first time I remember listening to it, Iggy had plopped the headphones on my head and told me to listen closely. Nearly everyday, we would come back just to listen. Once, when I asked why he liked the song so much, he responded with one quiet answer that had been begging to know more about the man who had raised me: "It holds many memories."

And every time the wonderful piece reached my ears, I was overwhelmed by sadness. The dream I had just woken from had had it playing over and over. It was almost frightening to wake up to it once again. Then, mid measure, the music stopped and a new sound broke into the air. And this sound was probably ten times as sad as the first. The muffled sobs and nearly silent _plop_ as a few tears hit the tiled floor. She was crying. My whole body ached with want. I gave into my temptations and walked around the wall where I was hiding and into the kitchen.

I imagined her face was in her hands because she didn't make any acknowledgement to presence. Against my own will, I came closer. I was close enough by then to wrap my arms around her, which is exactly what I did. I felt her stiffen with surprise as I placed my lanky arms against her back and into pulled her into my chest. Her lack of response embarrassed me, and I began to pull away. As she felt me retreat, she linked her arms around me.

She rested her forehead the crook of my neck and seemed to be trying to pull me closer. This wouldn't have been a problem if her large breasts weren't pressing into my chest. Jesus Christ. I tried my best not to think about her boobs; now was definitely _not_ the time to get a boner. Helplessly, I let myself imagine reaching my hands up to her chest. _Damn it, Iggy! Focus_, I thought. I closed my eyes averting my thoughts.

Her hands grabbed onto my shirt, clinging to me seemingly desperate. I never wanted it to end. The side of my face fell against the top of her head. Her damp hair felt cool against my flushed skin. I didn't know how long we had stood there, holding each other tightly. After a lifetime, she let her hands slide back to her sides. Reluctantly, I pulled back. I waited patiently, wondering if I should say something. Before I could speak the words forming on the tip of my tongue, she reached her hand up to cup my cheek gingerly. "Thank you. I really needed that." I couldn't respond, I couldn't move, I could barely breathe. The feeling of her callused fingers on my face was paradise. She took her hand back and I listened to her quiet footsteps travel back into her room.

I couldn't help touching my cheek where her hand had been seconds ago. Every feeling I had had for her before we had met seemed completely miniscule compared to how I felt at that moment. Slowly, a horrible ache spread across my chest and in my fingertips. Was love supposed to hurt like this?

AN: Yay! Ahahahaha. I'm sooooo sorry because that took me a decade and it's not even that long. :( I'll try to make the next one longer. Maybe some reviews would motivate me! :)

**Thanks for Reading,**

**Melanie**


	4. Halfway Sober

_Holy shit_. Nothing else came to my mind besides those two words. Quite honestly, I thought they were very appropriate for the situation. I quietly got into my bed that was on the opposite wall as Nudge's and picked up my phone that was charging on the carpeted floor. Leaning over the top of the bed, my thumbs dashed across the keyboard for a few seconds. I pressed the send button and waited in the same uncomfortable position for a response. Hopefully, Arjoo had left her phone on. She texted back with a simple "It's three AM." I smiled before typing in the next sentence.

"I think I'm in love." I decided to spell everything out correctly to seem more serious. Despite her nonchalant attitude, I knew Arjoo had been worried about me and had responded quickly to my first text, but the next response seemed to take decades. My fingers tapped impatiently against my scratched up phone. Finally, the screen lit up and I pouted at the words on it:

"Okay. Goodnit." She hadn't even spelled it correctly.

"No! Not goodnight! I'm serious!" I typed in furtively. I knew that I had to tell Arjoo. Hiding my feelings never resulted in anything good; Passing out at school was evidence of that. I hated talking about my feelings; it made me feel like an asylum patient. With Arjoo, it was different. I read the text that lighted up my phone.

"Fine. Who?" I scooted into a normal position on my mattress, noticing how my purple comforter no longer smelled like home. I rested my head on the pillow. It was soft but not nearly as comfortable as Iggy's chest. I had thought that he would have been bony and pointy but I was surprised to find that I had fit so perfectly pressed against him. His eyes made me feel like I was drowning. It was odd how he seemed to actually see me. The light pupils were focused and the pale blue around them only intensified the sightless gaze. I had been tempted to just clutch onto him forever. My eyes closed, remembering how warm he felt against me, how his breathing quickened when I tried to pull him closer.

"His name is Iggy." She would probably think I was lying. Nobody's name was Iggy. My eyes widened a bit at her text.

"Oh yeah, Iggy Griffith. I have Spanish with him. He's blind, right?" Of course. Arjoo knew the guy I was in love with and had _never_ told me about him. What kind of best friend did I have?

"Yes, he is. And now I live with him." I knew I had intrigued her because her next text came quickly.

"Lucky. He's pretty hot." I chuckled quietly. Yes, Iggy was hot … _very _hot … actually, he was pretty damn sexy. But he was much more to me than just perfectly tousled strawberry blonde hair, hypnotizing pale eyes, pointed features and a lanky frame. Iggy was something much more. I didn't know him, yet I could _feel_ his compassion, his intelligence, his humor, his sad past. I didn't know Iggy Griffith, but I did know that I was hopelessly in love with him.

I glanced at the small clock on my phone. I hadn't slept and my aching eyes yearned for rest. It was something I couldn't grant them. I slipped out from under my sheets to sit on the edge of the bed. It felt like someone had unaligned my spine. Slowly, I arched my back and winced when a horrible _crack_ rang around the room. Very gross. Angel shifted a bit in her bed but neither girl woke up. I stepped quietly to a large cardboard box I had labeled "CLOTHES" and knelt down to search in it. After a few minutes, I yanked out a long striped wife beater and a pair of dark jeans. From the box beside it, I grabbed black suspenders and worn-out Converse.

Seeing that the bathroom door was open, I slipped inside to get ready for school. The fairly large area with a wide mirror and two sinks was empty, but the door connecting the vanities to the toilet and shower was closed. Immediately, I heard someone behind the second door. I pressed my ear to the door to confirm what I had heard. Yup. Someone was puking. I looked at the white wood. I wanted to knock on it, to help or even just comfort who ever was in there. At the same time, I didn't. I still felt so much like an intruder in this family. I shook my head, making up my mind. My knuckles rapped upon the hard surface a few times. A final gag came from the room before there was a flush and the door opened wide.

Max stood in front of me, streaked hair a mess and her eyes watery. "Are you okay?" I said, feeling _really_ awkward. I wondered fleetingly if I ever wouldn't feel awkward here. She forced a smile.

"Of course." She was a pretty good liar, but I couldn't help but continue.

"I… um… heard you –"

"No, I'm fine," she cut me off quickly. Before I could say anything else, she practically ran back into the room next to Iggy and Gazzy's that she shared with Fang. I was left standing in the open doorway of the bathroom. I wasn't exactly sure what to do. After realizing that there wasn't much that I _could_ do, I stepped into the fairly small room to change into my clothes.

When I finally finished struggling with the suspenders, I stepped into the vanity room. Nudge had slipped in when I was changing, and looked delighted to see me awake. She was probably excited to have someone to talk to, because she didn't stop until I was completely finished with my hair. (She would cough in between some sentences when I would use my hairspray.) "Oh my god! You're hair is so cool!" she exclaimed. I smiled at her genuine compliment. My taste in fashion was not something everyone was a fan of. I was more into the eccentric accessories, dark clothes, big hair side of the spectrum, while the majority of modern teenagers were into any overpriced item you could buy at Aéropostale or Abercrombie. Nudge was wearing high-waisted shorts and a fedora. _Hipster! _I laughed inwardly. My brother, Caravel and I had always hated hipsters. But as I looked Nudge up and down, she seemed to be the only hipster I had seen that didn't look like an idiot. In fact, she looked really good; especially for a thirteen-year-old. She was very beautiful as she looked like a small replica of her mother.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn't help but notice how different I looked without all the eyeliner; it wasn't a good different. Quickly, I retrieved the black makeup to create the mask I comfortably hid behind. I adjusted the thick rubber wristbands on my arms before walking into the family room. Instantly, I spotted Fang and Iggy side by side on the couch. They were whispering quiet words to one another. I couldn't hear the conversation and their mouths were moving to fast for me to understand them. As I took the most silent step of my life towards them, hoping to get a piece of what they were talking about, Iggy's mouth snapped shut. He I stayed silent for a moment before whispering saying something to Fang. The dark-haired boy turned his head toward me then whispered something. This time I could read the word clearly on his lips. _Melanie_. They were talking about me?

"Up and away," I heard Max announce from the kitchen as she handed Angel and Gazzy their lunches in brown bags. Quickly the flock, as Nudge told me they called themselves, grabbed their backpacks and filed out of the apartment. I practically ran back into my room and picked up my bag and oboe case. Of course, I was the last one out. I stepped out of the apartment and Max locked the door behind me. "Oh, Melanie." I looked up at Max as we boarded the elevator. Taking a good look at her face, I realized just how beautiful she actually was. She wasn't completely stunning, like Nudge, but warm brown eyes, blonde-streaked hair, a lanky frame and loving smile made Max very pretty. "You probably have band sixth period, right?" I nodded. It was very well known that all of the "band geeks" took their elective at the end of the day. "Well, Iggy's sixth period class is right around there; he can walk with you to where we usually meet up." My heart ached a bit as she said his name. I smiled, my breath still in my throat from the mention of Iggy. She returned the gesture, flashing straight teeth and took a large stride to hold Fang's hand. They were very cute together. I couldn't help but wonder if someday Iggy and I could be like that. I shook my head to clear the thought and followed the flock to Aviva High School.

After dropping Angel, Gazzy, and Nudge off at their school, I felt very awkward. Nudge had been my savior in this new environment. Her ceaseless talking distracted me from how out of place I was. But now, the only sounds were the city around us and our shoes against the pavement. Fortunately, Aviva wasn't too far from the apartment and in twenty minutes, we were at the high school. I smiled a goodbye as I parted from the three and quickly made my way to my first class. I willed my short legs to go faster without looking like an idiot running down the halls. All I wanted was to lose myself to the pointless schoolwork. I didn't want to think about my family or my new home or Iggy. I just wanted to think about the proper placement of verbs in French or the campaigns of former presidents or the sweet, collective sound of the symphonic band. But I couldn't have it. Pale blue eyes and a tall lanky frame kept blotting out everything. All I could do was hope that the painful six hours would end as quickly as possible.

The rest of the day dragged on until the final bell rang. I exhaled loudly and slumped in my plastic chair. The warm metal keys on my oboe felt comforting against my fingers. Every professional I had met made sure to tell me how perfect I was for the beautiful instrument: the strength and length of my fingers, the shape of my lips, even the involuntary control in my breathing. I had been made to play. It had taken me three years to discover my love for oboe. I had learned to play saxophone in the fifth grade, and after hearing oboe for the first time at a community band performance, I fell in love. The elegant, hollow tone had wrapped around me, offering acceptance and affection.

Unconsciously, I nibbled on the end of my reed. I hadn't made any in quite some time, but as my lips touched the thin wood observationally, I knew I had to make a few soon. Reed making had never been my favorite activity. The process was so incredibly tedious and took so long. I mentally went over the things I would need, not sure if I had enough cane. I didn't hear the footsteps and quiet conversation until the two tall figures were beside me. "Why does it always take you so long to finish up?" I looked up at Arjoo, impatience was etched in her voice, but an amused smile was playing on her lips.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," I replied in an apologetic voice to who she was walking with. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"It's fine." Oh God; he was so hot.

I hadn't taken a good look at Iggy that morning, but as he stood directly in front of me, my eyes traveled up and down his thin frame. He had a light sweatshirt on that clung to his body in the most perfect way. His dark jeans followed in the same pattern. I looked down and practically sighed in relief to see his black Converse. I hated boys who wore Vans.

Quickly, I disassembled my oboe and placed the pieces gently into its case. I looked up at Arjoo as I put my backpack on and stood. The smile she wore mocked me. I took the first few steps towards the door, noticing how the other two followed suit. I looked up at Arjoo pleadingly. After receiving a text from Max that had told me that I had to walk home alone with Iggy because she and Fang planned to stock up on food. I didn't want to be surrounded by his breathing, his scent, and his eyes every time I got a glance at them. No, that's a lie. I most certainly _did_ want all of those things. But I knew it would just drive me further to the point of insanity. Arjoo grinned, shaking her head triumphantly. The corners of my mouth turned down. What kind of best friend did I have?

The usual loudness of Los Angeles had seemed to come to a halt as I walked quietly beside Iggy. His calm breathing, and the wonderful minty scent that accompanied it, washed over me as a light breeze came across us. I shivered, briefly closing my eyes. "How long have you been playing oboe?" the sudden question made me snap my eyes open and turned to him. I processed his words for a second, his breathing still muddling my mind.

"I started in the eighth grade. So just about thee years." I appreciated his attempt of breaking the tension, but we both knew it just made the situation much more awkward. He nodded.

"When I was younger, before I was put in foster care," I looked up at him. He was relaying to me details of his past. He trusted me enough to tell me something that lay under his skin. "I used to listen to a lot of classical music. I always thought that oboe was so unique; So beautiful." His jaw was continually clenching and unclenching.

At this point, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. The sun was playing with the colors in his hair and what the light was doing to his eyes was breath taking. I wanted to say something. I wanted him to tell me more about his past. I wanted to know anything about him, but the butterflies in my stomach made it almost impossible to speak. We were both silent for quite some time. "Have you always lived in LA?" I didn't know him at all; was I pushing past his walls? Should I have just stayed quiet the entire walk home. He turned his head to look at me.

"No. I lived in San Francisco until I was six." We had stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to flash green.

"With your parents?" I asked quietly. His hand went up to run through his tousled hair. He probably wasn't going to answer; I had probably just made things very awkward between us.

"No." my eyes widened in shock. He was really going to tell me about his past. "A man found me in an alley when I was a baby, and he raised."

We had crossed the street and I could see the apartment building was very close. He didn't stop talking. He went on to tell me more about this man who had raised him. He kept on talking. He told me about the odd places where they would sleep in San Francisco. We had gotten to the apartment door and he was fishing in his pocket for the key. He kept on talking. He opened the door, half finished with telling me about a time he had stolen money from another homeless man, laughing at the memory.

Then he stopped talking, realizing that he was giving up his life story to a stranger. "I'm just 'gonna . . ." he trailed off he turned to quickly walk towards his room. But I didn't want him to stop talking.

"Wait," I called. He spun around slowly, his hand on the doorknob. "I want to know more." I said this quietly, my general shyness flooding back into me. Immediately, I regretted saying it. He was going to reject me and I would just hide under my covers like a three-year-old.

He smiled and I almost died at the mere sight. He nodded and pulled on the door, leaving it open invitingly. I froze momentarily until my legs started working again and I stepped Iggy Griffith's bedroom.

**AN: Woot! I don't even want to think about how long this took me to write. :( I'm so sorry. But to make it up to you, in the next chapter . . . THE PLOT THICKENS! X) Oh yes. Alrighty, PLEAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEE review. PLEASE. Or you just may have trouble sleeping tonight . . .**

**LOVE,**

**Melanie **


	5. Terrible Things

What had happened? Yes, I was in love with Melanie Wasurick, but how could I have let her tear down my walls so easily? Max and Fang knew less than she did now. But she was just a stranger.

I was still talking by the time we were both sitting on my crumpled sheets. My long legs dangled off of the side of the high bed as I leaned against the wall it was on. I imagined that she was sitting with her legs crossed due to the gentle contact of her left knee on my thigh. I was facing forward but I could tell her head was turned to look at me. That intoxicating apple-gum-flavored breath was washing over me and I could barely think. I continued telling her the odd ins and outs of my past and she listened intently.

I didn't quite understand the flood of emotions that threatened to break down the strong barriers I had built up years ago. I had pent up all my memories about Iggy for so long, thinking that the grief they had caused me would return. But as I spoke every last detail of my past I was overwhelmed with an odd feeling of… Peace. I almost stopped talking at the realization.

I was letting him go. I was relinquishing all of the strife his death had caused me. It was every bit of anger and sadness I had ever felt because of him that was dissipating with my words. And left standing was all of the happiness and love I had shared with him. Tears threatened to run down my cheeks and they might have if a distant voice hadn't broken me out of my reverie. "Iggy?" I had stopped talking.

Her breath was warm against my cheek and the hand she had on my arm was like fire. I couldn't stop myself, much like last night when I had been alone with her, and I turned to face her. Her breathing quickened as I lifted my hand to place it where I thought her shoulder was. I met my mark and slowly trailed my palm up her neck and before she had exhaled, I was cupping her cheek. We both leaned forward the slightest of inches and I could feel her eyelashes fluttering against my cheekbones. I closed my eyes and I felt her do the same. She had stopped breathing completely and I was sure I had too. Once again, we continued closer. I brought her face nearer and just as our lips were millimeters apart, the front door swung open loudly and a broken cry brought up every wall that she had torn down to its original stance. "_Iggy_!"

* * *

><p>The sounds of echoing footsteps against the linoleum, Fang's impatient fingers tapping against the arm of his chair, and the quiet sobbing from Angel and Nudge were not comforting. I had never been scared or even felt out of place in hospitals like I knew so many people were. There was so much to hear and smell that it was almost like seeing. But as we sat in the soft blue chairs of Cedars Sinai Medical Center, the tension so thick that it was nearly impossible to breath, I couldn't help but feel that death was lurking around every corner.<p>

The only thing keeping me from locking myself in the Mercedes, away from the anxiety and terrifying feeling of not knowing the fate of one of my best friends, was the thumb rubbing against my skin while the rest of the callused fingers were wrapped around my forearm. She rested her head against my shoulder and her breathing was even against it. We had been in the same position for almost seven hours. I'm sure the rest of the flock had been quite surprised by it, especially when I reached over to hold her hand that was on the armrest of my chair. She was the only thing grounding me and I couldn't let go, no matter how little I knew about her and how much she knew about me. She seemed quite comfortable with our closeness and didn't pull away as I gripped her hand tighter. I wasn't quite sure what had happened between us. All I knew was that as we sat by side on my crumpled sheets, my soul exposed to her, I was going to kiss her and she was going to kiss me. That seemed to be the only thing that mattered. And I would have kissed her if Fang hadn't burst into the apartment, pure terror eking through his words.

Apparently while grocery shopping, Max began screaming in agony before passing out on the floor. A concerned bystander had been kind enough to piece together the flock, including Melanie and I, and driving us to a hospital. For three and a half hours, we were forced to stay in a private room, the walls closing in on us until the clacking of heels against linoleum signaled that Brenda had finally arrived. We swiveled our heads simultaneously towards her. She cleared her throat before speaking. "Max isn't okay." Melanie gripped me tighter. I tried to pick up Brenda's emotions through her tone, but being the great actress she was, she was almost completely stoic. Though searching hard in her words, something was wrong. I didn't understand the unfamiliar feeling until she spoke again. "They ran a few tests and …" She didn't finish the sentence as she broke into loud, broken breaths.

Concern. Confusion. Fear.

Brenda continued to hyperventilate until Fang stood from his chair, a loud bang as it hit the wall accompanying him. His footsteps disappeared out the door. We heard unintelligible shouts coming from down the hall. No one made a sound; even Brenda had stopped breathing. Fang argued with multiple women at the front desk for nearly twenty minutes before the shouting stopped and he shuffled back into the room. "What's wrong with her?" Angel asked quietly. He took a long pause.

"Max has brain cancer."

Any bit of life that lingered about was instantly drained out of the room. Fang resumed his place in the corner and Brenda stared blankly at her high heels. Not long after, Angel and Nudge fell asleep in the bench seat and Gazzy was doing his best to stay awake, but his heavy eyelids betrayed him. Melanie hugged my arm tighter and her warmth comforted me. I didn't want to think about Max or the possibility that she might die. Instead, I rested my cheek on Melanie's head and she nuzzled her way into the crook of my neck: we were a cheesy sitcom writer's wet dream come true.

I was so confused by her.

Only a few days ago she had been a nameless voice that haunted my dreams. Now, she was something incredibly different. She was soft hands, hot tears, firm hugs, timidity at its weakest and boldness at its strongest.

I was so confused.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the hallway walls. My head jerked towards the open door and soon, a voice was in the room. "Hello, I'm Dr. Tory." The man was tired, sleepiness engraved in every letter. Fang stood and stepped closer to him. "It's very hard to have to say this, and I wish I didn't have to." He sighed wearily. "Maximum had a rare brain cancer." Papers were shuffled around and a metallic click echoed around the room. "As you can see, the tumor has spread all the way into the top section here." He didn't bore us with medical jargon and continued to tell how the tumor had started near the center of her brain. "I have never seen this type of brain cancer before, but as it says here," more papers were shuffled around, "her mother suffered from the same ailment. I believe it may be genetic."

Her mother had had brain cancer? Had Max ever known? I fretted on the questions, wondering if the rest of the flock had been keeping secrets about their pasts like Max and I had. "Is Max 'gonna die?" Angel's small voice resonated in my head. The pain and grief she was trying to conceal worried me almost as much as the long pause Dr. Tory took.

"We can't know for certain, but –"

"What happened to her mother?" Fang asked, his voice angry and confused. Another silence swept over the room.

"Valencia Ride died three years after being diagnosed with the same type of cancer. She developed the tumor a few months after giving birth to Maximum. Until we can know exactly how to deal with this tumor we will have her undergo radiation therapy." He asked Brenda to sign a few papers and the two left the room silently.

I didn't know what to do. One of my best friends, my _sister_, was dying. What could I do? What could any of us do or even say? My chest ached and my limbs felt stiff and useless. I almost cried, but it felt like I had forgotten how. "She's going to die." I didn't move at the words, too aware that all of the anger and sadness he had pent up for the past sixteen years was bound to spill out sometime.

"Don't say that, Fang. Don't you dare say that," Nudge piped up, her voice hoarse from lack of talking.

"Why? I know it's true. Everyone I ever love dies! Everyone who I care about fucking dies the minute I let myself be happy!"

"Shut the fuck up!" I shouted, turning my head towards him and untangling myself from Melanie and her warmth. "Just shut the fuck up! You're not that special, Fang. Your parents didn't die because of you. Max won't either." He stepped closer to me, the anger radiating off of him.

"Just calm down." Melanie rose from her chair. At this comment, he inhaled sharply and turned to glare at her.

"Calm down? How can you tell us to calm down? You don't know what this feels like! You aren't a part of this family!" She didn't move or say anything. But at that point I had absolutely had it.

"Don't take this out on her Fang." I did my best to calm my voice, but the warning was clear in my voice. I distantly could hear Angel crying quietly.

Fang laughed. It was a grim laugh full of malice and spite. He was really losing it. "Of course Iggy. You're going to defend _her_. Someone you barely know." I stayed silent while he waited for me to retaliate. I didn't. "You love a stranger more than your own family!" He was practically seething, and I couldn't blame him. I had known Melanie for two days, and had told her everything. I had lived with the flock for ten year and had told them nothing.

With a single "Fuck you, Iggy!" Fang's anger spilled out like the secrets I had told Melanie.

A strong fist collided with my jaw.

I heard Melanie and Nudge scream before everything was silent and my head hit the linoleum.

* * *

><p>I had never passed out before, and I can assure you that it's not the greatest thing to experience. It feels like I had just blinked, but when I opened my eyes, my head was throbbing and my jaw ached. Every tiny <em>creek<em> and _crack _in the floorboards as people walked around the apartment rushed after me, and the pain in my head increased. Finally, I realized that the room was silent beside for the breathing beside me. Warm hands were soothing against my cheek.

I opened my eyes immediately as I recognized the long nails and callused fingers. "What time is it?" I asked, my throat dry. She rubbed her thumb over what I could only imagine was a forming bruise.

"One-ish. You've been out for almost thirty minutes." I blinked. Fang had really been angry. "Fang locked himself in his room and said he'd deal with this tomorrow."

I wasn't paying too much attention to her words, the bed shook lightly as she changed from her former position to lay on her side against me. Her large breasts pressed against my shoulder when she draped an arm over my chest to hold me tightly. My pants tightened, and I was thankful for the comforter covering my legs. Stupid hormones. She yawned and her breath fanned against my face. As she had done so at the hospital, she nuzzled her way into the crook of my neck.

It was too much.

Everything in me was telling me to do it. I wanted to. I had always wanted to.

And I did. I gently grabbed her chin where it was pressed against my shoulder and pressed her lips to mine.

I saw a flash of surprised, green eyes before I pulled away in shock and everything returned to black.


	6. A Forbidden Dance

"You have green eyes." He was shocked and his voice was full of wonder. My face scrunched up in confusion. I sat up, and he followed suit.

"Yes…" I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at.

"I _saw_ your eyes. I _saw_ you." Realization flooded into me. I was about to speak again, but Iggy placed his hand on the back of my head and forcefully, yet gently, brought my lips to his once again.

He didn't pull away this time, and I was glad.

My hands were on his shoulders, around his neck, in his hair. I clung to him desperately with the fear that my weightlessness would make me float away. With the girly, cliché side of me overpowering my body, I let Iggy take the lead. His lips were full and the tiniest bit chapped. He skipped over the timid closed-mouth kisses and easily guided his tongue into my mouth. His hands were resting comfortably on the bare skin of my hips that had been revealed where my shirt had ridden up. He was on top of me, straddling my hips as he moved his kisses down my neck. I was only aware of our position change when a pillow hit Iggy in the head. "All that _face_ _sucking_ is _not_ helping me get to sleep." I froze completely as Gazzy complained groggily. My cheeks turned red and I attempted to sit up. In complete contrast to my embarrassment, Iggy found the situation hysterical. He rolled over beside me and clutched at his sides. Laughter spilled from his mouth, its sweet sound the only thing keeping me from chastising him for our carelessness. I made a move to leave, but Iggy ceased his laughter and put an arm around my waist, keeping me by his side. "Stay," he whispered. There was a pleading tone in his voice. I looked over his head to see that Gazzy had fallen asleep.

I lay back on the pillow and pressed myself against his firm chest. He smiled and hugged me tightly. "Goodnight." He kissed the top of my head.

"Goodnight."

"_Iggy," I moaned as his hands ventured higher on my torso. His kisses moved down the bare skin of my chest. Long fingers toyed with the clasp of my bra, not yet choosing to grant me what I wanted. His teeth grazed my cleavage right above the left cup. I inhaled sharply._

_He moved back up to my lips, silencing my pathetic whimpers instantly. I tangled my fingers in his soft hair and he wrapped his arms securely around my waist. His touch was like fire against my bare skin._

_Once again, his hands returned to the back of my bra, this time fully intending to remove it. He undid the clasp and I pulled my arms through. Before he lifted the garment from my body, I opened my eyes, expecting to see tousled hair and lust filled pupils._

Instead, I was met with comfortable warmth and uncomfortably wet panties.

My head was resting on Iggy's firm chest, arm draped over his stomach. As my initial sleepiness wore off, I realized the provocative position Iggy was in: his right arm had wrapped around my shoulder, snuggly keeping me in place. But it was his hand that had shocked me. I'm sure Iggy hadn't meant to place his hand where it was, but the mere thought of its placement was making the uncomfortable wetness greater.

Iggy's hand had slipped under the thin material of my tank top, and partially under the bra beneath it. I was relieved and disappointed that I hadn't changed into pajamas before going to sleep, because he would probably have his hand completely on my breast if I had. Because of the underwire, a few of his fingers had only made it partially onto my bare boob. Though, due to the length of the fingers, he was very close to my areola. If I shifted to the right a bit, he would be touching my nipple. The thought made me shiver. To avoid the awkward situation that would cause, I turned to my left into Iggy's warmth and let his hand slide from under my shirt.

His eyes fluttered open, the long lashes brushed gently over his cheekbones. I stared in awe as he lifted his arms and stretched away any kinks and to rid himself of sleepiness. The muscles underneath his sleeves pushed against the fabric proudly. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. _I'm in so deep._

"'Morning," he said groggily as he gave me a warm smile. The light shining through the window near his bed changed the colors of his eyes, his skin tone, and the shade of his hair. He looked positively golden: an Adonis with red-blonde hair and dark blue eyes full of adoration and depth.

"'Morning." He lifted the covers, but quickly smoothed them back down. "Are you 'gonna get up?" I asked, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost 6:30. I wasn't quite sure how long it took Iggy to get ready for school, (as a boy, it probably didn't take long) but I needed as much time as possible. He didn't answer, only bit his lip in sudden concentration. I shook my head in confusion, then slipped out from under the covers and swung my leg over his hips. I saw a flash of panic in his eyes mixed with a bit of embarrassment. I didn't move as I realized the source of his embarrassment: Iggy was hard. And whether it was an issue for him or not, it was definitely an issue for me as he pressed against my wetness that he, hopefully, could not feel.

I grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him. His arms wrapped around my waist and held me tight, that incessant hardness pressing intoxicatingly against me. _Holy shit_.

* * *

><p>I ignored the unashamed stares as I walked down the crowded hallway. I ignored the whispers and surprised expressions. They were naïve and immature, and had never experienced a real relationship. Now that the "fat girl" they had either teased or ignored for years and years was holding the hand of another outcast, they were suddenly interested.<p>

I only paid attention to the warm fingers locked with mine. He tried to walk slow, but his long legs made me take large steps to keep a normal pace. We had such a strange rhythm, but it was perfect. I noticed that my first period class was gaining on us; I didn't want the strange rhythm to end. "I'll see you later?" I smiled.

"Most likely." He grinned and lifted my chin to kiss me chastely, bending down slightly to reach. I touched my lips softly, the taste of strong coffee and toothpaste lingering pleasantly on them. He beamed at me one last time before walking briskly down the hall, his long legs carrying him quickly. I positioned my bag more comfortably on my shoulder and walked into the classroom. Kids gave me mixed expressions, and some didn't take notice to my presence.

"And who was that?" a nearing voice said. I turned to face her. Jenna Rivers had been a very close friend for many years. We had been in band together, sitting side by side, since the sixth grade. She had been jealous of my musical prowess and big boobs, and I had been jealous of her boyfriend. In the eighth grade when Jenna had dumped her first boyfriend, someone she had claimed to "love," and exchanged him for a boy four years older, I had been startled. Startled that an eighteen year old was dating a fourteen year old, and also startled that she, a geeky, short Asian girl could get a boyfriend, and I could not. Of course, I had always been happy for Jenna and her boyfriend, who had become a close friend of mine throughout the years. They continued to be together even after he moved to Sacramento for college. But I had secretly wished that I could experience the same love she did. And finally, I was granted Iggy.

"Someone…" I answered with a grin. She ran up and hugged me, her head not even reaching my shoulder.

"Now you're the short one!" she yelled with a triumphant smile. I giggled, knowing it was true. I had teased Jenna for being so much shorter than her boyfriend, but now, I had almost doubled their height difference with Iggy. But I was fine with that.

First period dragged on and on, until I couldn't stand it. I silently took the hard cover notebook out of my bag and laid it gently on the table. The cover displayed a black treble cleft on a sketched staff. The pages were lined in fives: pages and pages of sheet music. Almost half of the book had been taken up, most pages were crossed out in big exes and squiggles. I loved composing, but I was always afraid that what I created was mediocre and ugly. No one had ever seen or heard any of my pieces. I rolled my eyes as Ms. Lopez misspelled something in French on the white board and flipped my notebook to a fresh page. I looked at the lined page blankly for a second. I blinked a few times, then almost as if taken over by the ideas running wild in my mind, I began to write. I drew in the bass cleft, and created a strong bass line before starting on new lines and writing in the melodies and harmonies. I always saved the oboe part for last, but I didn't get to it as the bell rang much too quickly. I didn't bother shoving the notebook back into my bag. I threw the rest of my books and pencils into my bag before hurrying out the door. I spied Arjoo down the hall and took bigger steps to reach her. "Have a nice night with Iggy?" she asked, grin on her face. I smiled up at her.

"Yes; thank you for asking." She waggled her eyebrows at me. I broke into uncontrolled giggles as we walked to second period.

* * *

><p>The warm hands holding my hips firmly slowly inched their way up under my shirt. "<em>Iggy<em>."

He kissed me fervently, full lips intoxicating me. My hands tugged at his shirt, natural instincts possessing me. I began to lift it up over his stomach until I felt him smile against my mouth and pull back to take off the garment. "Someone's frisky today," he said with a smirk. I opened my mouth to reply with a witty remark, but was rendered speechless when his shirt came off. The chest I had imagined lay under those clothes ever since Iggy had held me a few nights ago in the kitchen became reality before my eyes. Pale skin stretched tightly over toned abs and bulging biceps. He grinned again before kissing me chastely on the lips. "Your turn."

I paused for a moment. I had only met Iggy a few days ago, and we were sliding into second base on his bed. A lot of girls at my school wouldn't have a second thought about it, but I was different. My entire life, the past five years especially, my self-esteem had been very low. I had never kissed a boy nor had a boyfriend. I had been dreaming a and hoping that one day that would change and I would find a boyfriend I would have sex with regularly. But now that I was finally granted what I had wanted, I was hesitant. I blinked a few times, making up my mind.

I pulled off my shirt and pulled Iggy down to my face, kissing him forcefully. I walked my hands up and down his chest, reveling in the hard muscle. He was so fucking sexy.

Iggy's fingers made their way to the back of my bra, reminding me fleetingly of my dream that night. He nipped at the junction of my neck and shoulder as he fiddled with the clasp of my bra. He wasn't as skilled as he was in my dream, but I wasn't complaining. I felt the bra come undone and closed my eyes as it was slipped off.

I couldn't fight off the moan that spilled from my mouth as he rubbed his thumbs against my nipples. Nudge had gone to the mall with some of her friends, Fang had taken Gazzy to a dentist appointment, and Max was lying in a hospital bed. We had all wanted to visit Max, but the doctors had permitted it due to some necessary testing they would be starting that day. My thoughts left Max and the rest of my foster family as Iggy dipped his head down to my breasts.

His hands moved across my skin carefully, as if he was taking in every detail of my upper torso. "Of course," he said, kissing just to the right of my left nipple. "You have amazing tits and I can't fucking see 'em." I laughed loudly, but was ceased when his tongue flicked against me again. I groaned, hand tangled in his hair. He began kissing his way up my chest, along my neck, until he was finally eyelevel with me. our eyes locked, and it was almost like he was seeing me. He stroked my cheek and gingerly kissed me.

"I love you, Melanie."

_**AN: Hey there everyone! Sorry that this took forever, yada yada, you know the usual. :P I hope you like this chapter as much as I do :) Pleeease review! Pleeease! Please? Anyways, this chapter gets a little. . . raunchy. Ahaha. I've never written anything provocative before, so i did my best! **_

_**Looove,**_

_**Melanie :)**_


	7. The Beach

Four months. It had been four months since Max had been diagnosed with brain cancer. It had been four months since Melanie had moved in with us. It had been four months since I had told her that I loved her. It was also in those four months we had all changed; some of us went through mental metamorphosis, like Max, some went through physical metamorphosis, like Melanie, and some went through emotional metamorphosis, like me.

Max went through two and a half months of testing and treatment. Apparently, the tumor wasn't accepting the chemotherapy or radiation they had been giving her. They had told Brenda that she was a lost cause and asked if they could perform an autopsy on Max's brain and find out more about the odd cancer. Brenda had refused, demanding for a new doctor for Max. As much as she yelled and cried and complained, Max went home the same night. The hospital had sent her home with the thought that there was nothing left they could do for her. For two weeks, we took turns sitting by her bedside watching her sleep and get thinner and thinner. Fang almost never left the room, and he wouldn't have at all if he didn't need food. Dr. Tory came by the apartment a few times, telling us the same crap every time. "I'm sorry." "I wish there was something I could do." It was as if Max was already dead. Though, on the last day of those two weeks, he had new news. Apparently, his usual checkup had been different: her heartbeat had gotten stronger, her pallor was returning, and her eyes had finally opened. The brown irises had been hazy and unfocused, but they had been seen for the first time in what had felt like a lifetime. She had been quickly transported to the hospital for further treatment. Within a week, she had woken up. She sat up in the thin hospital mattress and opened her mouth to speak. Fang had grabbed her hand tightly while the rest of the flock and Brenda stared intently at her. She looked down at her hand, fingers intertwined with Fang's with curiosity. Confusion and what was almost like fear echoed around the room. "Who am I?" Apparently, the vicious cancer Max had endured had been eating away at her hippocampus and other crucial areas in the brain dealing with memory. She had forgotten everything. Who we were, who she was. She was completely gone. A few seconds of silence had filled the room after Max spoke, until Fang leaned forward and gingerly kissed her on the lips. She tensed up in shock and was about to recoil when he drew back. Tears were in his eyes, a watery smile fell across his face.

"You're my everything," he answered.

The rest of the summer had been a struggle for all of us. Max, rendered weak from her lack of movement, was forced to stay in a wheelchair. Dr. Tory assured us that it was only temporary, and that she could be back on her feet the moment she physically could. Fang and the rest of us did our best to re-teach everything to Max. Who we were, who she was. Almost two months passed, and she was so close to being the old Max again. Some things she did were still out of the usual, and some things we did were still foreign to her. The multiple specialists who had gotten involved with Max had been completely shocked at her recovery. Of course, we knew just how strong and tenacious Max was, and we were barely surprised. Max had fallen in love with Fang again as Melanie and my relationship began to advance.

Most of Melanie's changes had become apparent under my hands and against my skin. The walking to and from school every day and the strict eating habits that had been enforced on her had taken their toll. Melanie had explained to me that the combination of her mom's genes and her dad's genes had created a less than favorable body. Her Filipino mother had given her the short stature she resented, while her father's side had left a generally large frame. She had called herself fat at a size ten, but all I had known her to be was beautiful. Though, her sudden move into our family had definitely changed her. Those enticing curves and large breasts were still there, but her stomach had flattened and her legs had lessened. Personally, I didn't give a fuck what she looked like, obviously since I only occasionally saw glimpses of her eyes. But I was enthralled at happy it made her. I told her time and time again, that she was gorgeous no matter what, but that had never reassured. Apparently, from what I had been told by Fang and Gazzy, she had been sharing clothes with Nudge, because of the looseness of her old clothes. Nudge was a size eight, though she was into the "hipster" fad, making her clothes at least a size or two bigger than what she needed. All of her clothes hung loosely on her. On Melanie, they were snug and hugged her body perfectly. Max had taken her to buy jeans when even belts wouldn't hold up her pants. Ultimately she was just as beautiful. The only thing that really changed to me was the lift in her self esteem. It wasn't just her body though. Apparently, Melanie had been dying her hair black for years. She had decided when her "terrible hair color" began to show again, to re-dye it black, and bleach the ends. I can recall the strong scent of peroxide coming from the bathroom where she and Nudge had dyed it. I obviously couldn't see the differences. Nearly the entire bottom half of her hair felt slightly coarser, but I didn't mind too much. It seemed to make her very happy. She had also started wearing her glasses again, which did not make her happy. She had run out of contacts and did not want to make a fuss to get new ones. Instead, she wore her glasses that had been enhanced every visit due to her terrible eye sight. Ironic, isn't it? She had had the same frames for a number of years: oversized, squared and bold. They were like the 3D glasses idiots popped the plastic out of, but they actually served her a purpose.

I experienced many changes in those four months. Some of those were obvious, while others were almost non-existent. The greatest change was my sight. I had been told a long time ago that my blindness had been caused by a malfunction in a part of my brain, not physically my eyes. With the limited knowledge I knew about the brain, I came to what seemed to be the most plausible explanation for me being able to see Melanie's eyes: she literally completed me. Yes; cheesy. Due to the emotional strain that had put upon me that day after learning about Max's cancer, being punched by Fang, and succumbing to my feelings toward Melanie, my mind was able to convince itself that I wasn't blind. It didn't happen every time I kissed her, but on days when we went through a lot, I was gifted with the sight of those green eyes. Gentle as summer leaves and intense as raging envy. Being in the dark for so long had made me appreciate so much, and something as major as seeing the love of my life's eyes was so unreal. Melanie was ecstatic when I told her; she had kissed me over and over again. She was disappointed that it wasn't just her that made me see. Needless to say, I hadn't complained.

The flock saw how much I loved her. How could they not? Even I knew that my arms seemed to perpetually be around her, that she barely ever slept in her own bed, that any conversation that she had with any boy outside of the flock boiled my blood. My jealousy had hit me unexpectedly, and although she chided me for it, I knew she was completely fine with it. Arjoo had told me that Melanie had fallen for a boy she had known since the sixth grade, and had liked him for three years. It hadn't bothered me until I had met that douche. I had been on my way to the band room to walk home with Melanie. It had been one month since the first time I had kissed her, and Melanie had dropped maybe one size. She had begun to be more confident with herself, and others had noticed both of these changes. I found Melanie in the doorway of the circular room, hearing her Converse click quietly across the linoleum and the metallic squeaks of the springs on her oboe case. I smiled as I drew nearer to her until a heard a deep voice. "Hey, Mel." I stopped. She paused a second, probably turning to see who it was. I knew instantly, recognizing his voice from the many times he had pestered Melanie with questions about physics homework, a class they shared. I could almost feel the attraction and nervousness dripping from his voice. Melanie did not seem to notice as she answered his questions.

"Oh, hey, Caleb." I hated the way she stopped to let him catch up with her. He obviously didn't see me as they continued the conversation. "Did you need Mr. Smith's homework?" She was innocent and didn't see his true intentions.

"No, I wanted to talk to you about… something else." I felt myself stiffen in anger, but didn't move.

"Sure."

"I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go see a movie with me. Star Wars just came out in 3D and –" He didn't get to finish. I took a few long strides around the corner and stopped directly in front of Melanie. Her breath fanned against my face in surprise before I tangled my hand in her hair and brought her towards me. I felt her melt into the kiss after the initial shock wore off. He had known that Melanie was my girlfriend, and he had still asked her out. I was jealous and furious and continued to kiss her with pure passion and lust. I pulled back, light headed from the kiss, the green eyes I had seen, and the lack of oxygen.

"She's fucking taken." I tightened my arm around her waist and lead her down the hall away from Caleb who stood shocked and angry.

Those four months had changed us. Some changes for better and some for worse.

The distantly familiar scent of the ocean breeze and its soft whistle as it brushed against us met me instantly as I stepped out of the car. Max, Fang, Nudge, Brenda and I had been here once. I had been so young maybe seven years old, it was hard to remember. But I did remember the chilly ocean water, and the serene desertedness of the beach. Max had hurt her arm here by accident. Fang had pushed Brenda aside to come to her rescue. That day came back to me in fragments, knowing the reason for the visit. Max still wasn't completely herself, and we weren't sure she could ever be the same again. We had tried time and time again to introduce her to old things, some sparking her memory, others falling flat. I could feel the hope radiating off of Fang as he walked her towards the sand, beach blanket in hand. I wasn't so sure Max would remember anything about that beach, but I knew Melanie and I always would.

I felt the callused fingers intertwine with mine and a short figure appear beside me. The oversized t-shirt she wore fluttered gently with the wind along with her hair as she stepped closer into my side. "I can barely remember the last time I went to the beach," she said, leaning against me and looking at the water. I smiled.

"That makes two of us." She steadied her hand on my shoulder, stepping on her toes to kiss me on the cheek. I looked down at her, wishing for the millionth time that I could see her. My mental plea to whatever god existed or didn't was denied. I contented myself by wrapping my arms around her waist and kissing her softly.

"Hey! Stop making out over there!" Melanie pulled back with laughter and u followed suit. She pulled on my hand and led me to the sand. She was called away by Nudge quickly and I sat on the sand next to Gazzy. I heard the loud _smack _of a rubber ball against skin as the girls played around with the volleyball. Melanie had played on her church's team for four years. She had always loved the sport and was the best on her team. When she graduated into high school, she hadn't tried out for the team due to her own insecurities. She had noticed how all of the girls on the team were tall and flaunted disproportionately long legs. After much persuasion on Nudge's and my part, she had agreed to try out for the team when school began again. The two had really gotten into the sport, playing almost every day at the nearby park. I heard Gazzy stand up and jump at the ball before it hit the sand, propelling it towards the water. "Gazzy!" Nudge yelled, chasing after him as Melanie went to retrieve the ball. I walked over to where Fang was laying down towels and opening a bottle of water for Max. His hard work was for naught, as Angel led Max away to build a sand castle with her.

"It's been so long since we've been here, hasn't it?" Fang said as I plopped down beside him. I nodded. We stayed silent for awhile as I reveled in the laughter of the rest if the flock. "Iggy, I heard what you said to Melanie a couple of nights ago. About your blindness." I stiffened. Look what eavesdropping gets you into: awkward conversations. I had been telling Melanie about how hard it really was, living my life. Yes I had gotten used to it, but I always yearned to be less of a burden. Practically everything I did required assistance. I had used enhanced memory and developed senses to omit the need of a dog or white cane, but when I was in new environments, I couldn't deny help. And of course there has always been the selfish side of me that only wants sight to _see._ "If you want me to . . . describe anything for you, I will." I smiled softly as naughty thoughts racked my brain.

"Describe Melanie." I felt him jump a bit, not expecting me to ask for anything. But I just couldn't pass up an opportunity to get him back for knocking me out four months ago. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Oh . . . um. Well," he stuttered a bit as I bit back a smile. I knew that Nudge had forced Melanie to wear a bikini, and the thin materialed, off the shoulder shirt over it probably left nothing for the imagination. "She's wearing a white shirt." I nodded. "And . . . um – a blue two piece underneath." I could hear his skin rubbing against itself as he wrung his hands together.

"What's she doing?" I asked nonchalantly, as if I didn't know how this was killing him.

"She's just playing volleyball with –" He stopped abruptly. I raised an eyebrow at him, dying to know the cause of his distress. "She . . . um. She took her shirt off." Perfect.

"Oh, yeah? How does she look in that bikini?" I couldn't help but smile now. I knew that he wasn't looking at her anymore, he would have probably combusted from awkwardness if he did.

"Very. . . fit."

"Yeah? What about her tits?" he stayed silent for quite some time, and I didn't think he would answer.

"Ample?" I burst out in laughter, falling back onto the towel as I clutched at my sides. He stood up abruptly. "Fuck you, Iggy." I continued my guffaws on the floor. Oh how I loved my family.

The day went on just as well: Fang avoided me good mannerly so he wouldn't have to talk about Melanie's tits, Max sat quietly by his side, Gazzy and Angel dragged Nudge into the water, much to her dismay, and I spent most of the day touching Melanie under the water where no one could see. "Come on, Iggy; let's swim," she had said, tugging on the bottom of my t-shirt and kissing gently up my neck. I didn't know how to swim, and I had never had any inkling to learn, though her tantalizing voice and soft lips were persuading me that I was tall enough to stand. I knew she was right, as I found she usually was. I pulled off my shirt and let her run her hands down the compacted muscles of my chest and stomach. Our hands entwined and she led me to the water. The soft grains of sand sticking to my feet became chilly sea. She continued into the calm waves as if she didn't notice how cold it was and I could do nothing but follow. The water bit at my flesh, but I grew accustomed to the temperature quickly. I wrapped my arms around her waist and dragged her deeper into the water as she giggled. I stepped farther and farther into the water until Melanie's entire torso was submerged. I heard the rest of the flock treading near us, closer to the shore. My head rested comfortably against hers as I let my fingers dance across her torso. The goose bumps that had resided when she grew accustomed to the water returned as I savored the feel of her skin. She leaned back against me and kissed my shoulder. I toyed with the bow in the center of her back that held the bikini top into place. She tensed noticeably as I untied the knot, holding the separate strings so it wouldn't float up around her. She quickly swatted my hands away and tried to retie the bow until I slipped my hands under the absorbent material. She froze instantly as I touched her breasts then melted into my touch. We were quite the inappropriate couple.

* * *

><p>She rested her head against my shoulder and wrapped her arms around mine. She was tired from the swimming and running and overdue joy we had all experienced. "I love you Iggy," she whispered into my ear before closing her eyes and letting the exhaustion take over. I kissed the top of her head. As she lay there, still damp hair splayed across our entwined arms, I couldn't help but recall her first night with the flock. How I had held her tight against my chest, and how I had succumbed to the hot tears and silent sobs.<p>

We had all changed in those for months. Max had gotten stronger. Fang was as overprotective as ever. Nudge matured. Angel grew two inches taller. Gazzy had pulled less pranks. I had become more open. But Melanie . . . she was the same orphan, the same musician, the same girl she had always been. And she let us change around her as we all found our own way to fall in with love Melanie Wasurick.

_**AN: wow. Did I actually finish that or am I dreaming? Ahaha. That just took my forever. :P I'm really really sorry. But, as you can see, this is definitely the longest chapter, and the happiest one at that. :) So I hope you enjoy it! REVIEW. Or die**_

_**LOVE, **_

_**Melanie 3 **_


	8. Above and Below

I blew lightly through the reed, letting the excess water splatter on the carpet. I felt the air escape out the right side. I scowled in frustration and went to adjust the black and purple string around the base. I _hated_ making reeds. It was tedious and infuriating. I just wanted to throw my oboe across the room when a reed I had spent eight hours making didn't work. I blew through the reed again. I didn't notice any leakage this time. Excited and hopeful, I grabbed my waiting oboe and gently inserted the reed. I licked my lips before poising the instrument at my lips and playing the all too familiar b flat. The note gingerly wrapped its way around the room, holding me tightly in a long forgotten embrace. I had been playing oboe for four years, but I was still comforted and amazed at the beautiful sounds it was capable of making. I do not tread on the word "capable" lightly. Every other non-professional I had heard had made me want to slap them in the face. The one girl who had played oboe in our school band had switched to French horn because she didn't like being outshone. I smiled in triumph as I ran my fingers along the keys and played minor scales. I tested out a few more notes and excerpts before taking out the reed and setting down my oboe. "I'm done now," I said, putting all my supplies away and placing my oboe back in its case. Iggy flipped onto his stomach where he lay on my bed and smiled mischievously. He had been sitting on my bed the entire time, telling me to hurry up and occasionally napping or leaving to grab a snack. I spun on the high stool and began walking towards him. He sat up and waited patiently as I took the few steps towards the bed. He grabbed my waist as soon as I was close enough and pulled me into his arms. His lips found mine quickly, instinctively drawing my hands to his shoulders.

I climbed, knee by knee, onto the bed, refusing to break the kiss. I straddled his hips as I pulled on his shirt. "Eager, aren't we?" he said when he pulled away to strip off the t-shirt. I didn't answer, just slid my hands down his chest to the muscle of his stomach. Although Iggy was thin and lanky, he exuded strength and roguish charm. The natural muscle that strained against his skin was for my eyes only, but it was obvious what was under those sweatshirts. Iggy had always been ignored by other kids at our school because of his blindness. The few good people who had tried to look past it couldn't see him as anything more than helpless. When we began dating, Iggy started getting closer to my friends as well as me. He wasn't just the quiet blind kid anymore, just as I wasn't the emo band geek; we were the misfit couple. The other girls who took second glances at Iggy were beginning to realize this as well. People were actually beginning to see perfectly tousled blonde hair, intense blue eyes, and the most endearing smile. The annoying rumors about fictitious sexcapades some sluts had created about him subsided quickly when a girl on the soccer team got pregnant. I didn't care much about the rumors, but thanks to his uncontrollable anger, Iggy did. I had told him not to make so much of a fuss when I caught him genuinely scaring a freshman who had asked him about it, but I caught him threatening a few others and warning them to "shut their fucking mouths." I truthfully thought it was pretty hot.

The lips he was pressing against my neck incessantly were full and soft while the fingers that were unclasping my bra were slender and rough. "Iggy," I breathed with the little oxygen I could muster. He was unbuttoning my shorts in an instant, my shirt and bra discarded on the floor. Iggy and I got intimate often, but we hadn't had sex. We usually stayed above the waist, though I had given him a few hand jobs and he had fingered me once or twice. And I knew from experience that whenever Iggy ventured below the waist, he was very horny. He kissed along my inner thighs and held my legs down to control my involuntary squirming. I bit my lip to keep in the moans waiting to spill out. He hooked his thumbs into the sides of my panties while the rest of his fingers stroked my lower stomach. I felt his hand leave my hip but I didn't look down or even open my eyes, just took the moment to take a deep breath as he paused what he was doing. He used his other hand to start pulling down the right side of my underwear. I didn't really notice the absence of his right hand until it returned, clutching the one thing I had hidden under my bed for two years. The cool hard plastic was all too familiar, added on was constant vibration as the switch was turned: Iggy had found my dildo. From a young age, I had been curious about sex. I masturbated often and when I was thirteen, I asked Jenna's boyfriend (as he was the only one I knew who was old enough) to buy me a dildo. I had used it almost every night since I had gotten it, and I had it in a shoe box under my bed without anyone ever knowing. I was practically dying of embarrassment. "Iggy," I began as I started to sit up. He instantly pushed me back down, kissing me and leaving more and more marks on my neck.

"Only bad girls use dildos, Mel," he said on his way back down my body. "Are you a bad girl?"I could hear it in his voice and could feel it through his skin: he was so fucking horny. But so was I.

I nodded fervently. "Oh fuck, yes." He looked up from where he had descended between my legs and grinned.

"Good." He pulled down my panties slowly, his eyes locked on mine. The pads of his fingers gently ran along my legs as he removed the undergarment. I didn't know if he threw my underwear on the floor or set them beside my legs, not that it mattered at all, because my attention was averted quickly.

"Iggy!" I cried in surprise as I felt the dildo at my opening. He circled me with the toy as he held onto my squirming legs. The vibration was incredible, but it was the knowledge that it was Iggy causing me that intense pleasure was what fueled my wetness. He pushed lightly into me, stroking my inner thigh tantalizingly. I arched off the bed with a moan. The penetration wasn't a new sensation to me, but what he did once the toy was completely buried in me definitely was. Iggy inclined his neck and circled my opening with his tongue. My chest heaved as I struggled to breath. He slowly licked his way up to my clitoris, covering it with his lips and gently sucking. My fingers threaded through his hair as I writhed on the bed. He removed the dildo and replaced it with his index finger, delving into me, progressively deeper and deeper. My orgasm was drawing nearer as he touched every one of my sensitive spots perfectly. "Fuck. I thought you were blind?" I joked as he found my g-spot as if he had seen right through me.

"Oh, I am." He looked up to smirk at me, still moving his finger within me. "I'm just good with anatomy."

I gasped, feeling myself slip away. My walls clenched around his finger, but I didn't get to see his reaction as my eyes snapped shut. I felt weightless and grabbed the sheets tightly: I didn't want to float away. It was like flying without any fear of falling, like feeling the comforting heat of a fire without any fear of burning, like falling deeper in love without any fear of abandon. I was invincible.

I let out a shaky breath as I found my way back to my purple sheets and the love of my life. My eyes fluttered open, though my vision remained blurred by the contrast of the artificial lamp light. I blinked away the blotches of light until I could finally see again. Iggy hovered above me, a soft smile on his face. He reached out his right hand and stroked my cheek. I leaned against him, loving the warmth his fingers were eliciting. My eyes closed again as he leaned down to give me a kiss; A gentle kiss that lasted a lifetime. I wasn't quite sure if I liked the odd taste in his mouth, but placed my hands on his shoulders nonetheless. I felt him smile into the kiss and when he drew back, I had to ask, although I already knew the answer: "Did you see me?" He absentmindedly brushed my fringe from my forehead as he nodded.

"You're so beautiful."

I had never been told I was beautiful before. I had always been so self-conscious about my appearance. It was mainly why I had faced depression in middle school. Of course, as I grew up, I let go a bit, but the fear of being "ugly" was always there. When Iggy and I got together, it didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that other people judged me on how I dressed or that guys didn't like me because I was fat, because I had Iggy.

He kissed up my neck slowly, softly. His lips lingered on my jaw for a moment. "I want you so bad, Melanie," he whispered. I tensed noticeably. Iggy and I had never talked about having sex. We were still so young, and I really wasn't sure if I was ready. I smiled against my skin. "Whenever you're ready, love," he assured me, as if he could read my mind. It was a tendency of his I found quite amazing. I brought his face back to mine before snuggling into the crook of his neck. I was comforted by his warmth and the strong arm he wrapped around me. I wanted to lay with him forever, not caring that I was naked or that we were both covered in a slight sheen of sweat. My hand traveled down to the waist band of his jeans and I smiled when his breath hitched. I paused for a moment as I could slightly hear a knock at the front door. The squeak of the hinges traveled to us, but I could not hear the voice that accompanied it. Iggy froze as he listened. Instantly he sat up and tugged his shirt back on before bounding out of my room. I quickly followed suit, my mind racing. With a final button on my shorts, I practically ran out to find the source of Iggy's distress.

I stopped as I stared at the woman at the door. Her pale skin was stretched across a thin lanky frame. Strawberry blonde hair fell past her shoulders. Disbelieving hazel eyes fixated on the boy before her. Iggy stared back, confusion and anger running across his features. The woman blinked a few times before opening her mouth to speak. "You have your father's eyes," she whispered. Tears began to fall down her cheeks. "James, I'm so sorry."

My blood turned cold as I looked and looked, still not wanting to see Iggy's mother standing in the doorway.

**AN: DUN DUN DUN! Aha. So yeah I finally finished. X) There's even some smut in it! Le gasp! Yeah I hope you like it! Review! **

**Looove,**

**Melanie**

**PS: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! X) **


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